


On the Other Side of the Veil

by Elowen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-26 09:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3845596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elowen/pseuds/Elowen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternate Thedas, Corypheus remains imprisoned and there are no rifts in the sky. Evelyn Trevelyan, escaping the restrictive life of a noblewoman, has enrolled in a university. When strange things begin to happen to her in the Fade, she seeks the help of her professor, Solas.</p><p>(Rating applies to future chapters.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Professor Solas's fingers curled around the edges of the lectern like a hawk's talons. He was speaking, but Evelyn's attention had drifted from the lecture as she stared at those hands, sharp and pale as the rest of him. Even when still, they were strangely animated, dynamic in a way she'd never really thought hands could be. Well, truthfully, Evelyn had never thought much about hands at all, unless they were in the process of touching her, but something about her professor's hands captivated her. And since she was being truthful, something about the rest of him did, too, but in the months she'd spent in his course, she still hadn't figured out what, exactly, it was. It wasn't his appearance. Or rather, it wasn't that she found him undeniably attractive. He wasn't solid, with gracefully arching muscles under bronze skin. He didn't have broad shoulders and dark, unruly hair. (Well—he might have been naturally dark-haired, for all she knew, but it was largely irrelevant when he was completely bald.) Instead he was paler than her parchment, angular and narrow, constructed entirely of uncomfortably sharp shapes. He was pure elf, in form and movement. But still she stared at him, day after day, until eventually she wasn't actively trying to figure out why she felt compelled to. She simply did.

With a sudden, disconcerting sense she was being observed in return, she flickered her gaze to the professor's face and caught him cooly regarding her. Embarrassed, she looked back down at her parchment and moved her quill in a purposeful way, though she sketched stars rather than wrote notes. Her mind hadn't caught up enough to really process what he was saying about the fall of Arlathan or where ever the topic had gone since her focus had drifted. She didn't dare look up at him again; a warm flush was creeping up her neck and she knew she was blushing like a school girl. She felt ridiculous and caught out, as if he knew exactly what she'd been thinking and was silently chiding her for it. Her stars faltered and lost their form, deforming until they were just sad, angular scratches of ink signifying nothing.

The lecture ended with the tolling of the university bell, three heavy peals that signaled the closing of the academic day. Her classmates stood, stretched, and ambled out of the room, chatting with one another about plans for the evening, about drinking and carousing and easy women. Evelyn stayed seated as most of the rest of the class filed out. She rubbed at the ink stain on her finger, then shuffled her papers, placing an old sheet of notes on top and hiding what she'd actually written that day. When she did look up, she found Professor Solas looking at her from where he stood near the door way. He looked away first, nodding in acknowledgment as another student bade him goodnight.

She had to pass close to him to leave the room. And she was the last student to do so. As she neared him, he turned his attention back to her. 

“Miss Trevelyan,” he said. His tone was flat, but when she looked to his eyes she saw the threat of a smile.

It put her just enough at ease that she felt her shoulders relax slightly and granted her just enough courage to pose a question she'd been turning over in her mind for days. “Professor Solas,” she said, trying not to sound too tentative, “might you have some time later? There's something—something I've been wanting to ask you about.”

His brow lifted slightly, but his expression returned to a neutral one almost immediately. “I have time now. Follow me to my office?”

“Thank you,” she said with a little nod, and stepped back to let him lead.

She walked beside him, just a half step behind. She didn't speak; Solas had such a quiet presence that she felt awkward taking the initiative and trying to make small talk on their way back to his office. She followed him silently through two long corridors and across a courtyard before he glanced back at her and spoke.

“So, Trevelyan... That's a noble house, is it not?”

Whatever she'd expected him to say, it was not that. She would not have guessed Solas had any particular interest in human politics, let alone took any notice of middling human nobility. “Ah, yes. Minor, but yes.”

“So that makes you Lady Trevelyan.”

He was still just a half step ahead of her, his profile oblique, and she couldn't read his expression.

“Not many of your type here,” he observed.

She wasn't sure if he meant women, or women from noble houses. Both were true. 

“It's my understanding that most human ladies train in painting or music performance or some other art their mothers think eligible young men find appealing. Or, if their marriage prospects are poor, some skill that could lead them to the Templars or the Chantry. You're not a mage; if you were, you'd be studying at the Circle. You're obviously not a Chantry sister, either. So tell me, Lady Trevelyan, what brought you here, to this university? Alchemy? Astronomy? Healing arts?”

The question caught her off guard even more than the observation that led to it had. “Process of elimination, I suppose. I proved very bad at painting and even worse on the harp. I don't have the discipline for the Templars, and I am too obdurate to be an obedient Chantry sister.”

Solas made a noise that sounded almost like a laugh. “I see you have a healthy sense of self awareness. That is rare in your kind.”

The comment was mildly insulting in a backhanded sort of way, but still it made Evelyn smile.

“I am very good with a needle, but when I stabbed my last suitor with one, my parents were happy to finally get rid of me and send me here.” She wasn't sure why she told him that anecdote. “I came hoping to study the non-magical healing arts. Maybe put that needlework to different use.”

“Did he deserve it?”

“My suitor? He deserved it and worse after what he tried to do.”

“Tried? He was thwarted by your needle, I take it?”

“Thwarted, and thwarted well enough that I suspect he hasn't dared try it again with some other woman.”

When he glanced back at her, he answered her satisfied expression with one of restrained amusement, but said nothing. A moment later, they reached a heavy wooden door. Solas pushed it open and motioned her in. He stepped in after her, swinging the door shut then removing his heavy woolen robe. Out of his scholar's garb, he looked even more slight. He wore a simple cream-colored tunic over leggings, and for the first time Evelyn noticed his feet were bare, partially wrapped in strips of cloth.

He laid the robe over the back of his heavy desk chair, then turned his hand, long fingers curling in toward his palm. Three candles sputtered to life. He turned to face her. “So, what was it you wished to ask me about, Miss Trevelyan?”

After falling into surprisingly easy conversation on the walk over, Evelyn found herself feeling again awkward and uncertain as he slipped seamlessly back into his authoritative, professorial mode. “I've heard you are a great scholar of the Fade,” she said slowly.

“Some might say so, though there is so much to learn from the Fade that I could never call myself a master of it.”

She glanced around his office, buying herself time to think about her next words. Books with thick, worn leather spines circled the room on shelves. On a cabinet beside his desk, there sat a mounted skeleton of some mammal or other, cast in ghoulish sharp relief by the thin glow from a candle. The room smelled like an old library, a little bit dusty and heavy with ancient knowledge. She looked back at him.

“I think... something strange has been happening to me in the Fade. I know little about how the Fade works and there are no mages in my family I could ask, so when I heard the Dean mention that it was a special area of knowledge for you, I thought...” She trailed off, aware that she was beginning to babble.

Her gaze flickered to the skeleton, then back to Solas. He was watching her with interest.

“Strange how?”

Evelyn licked her lips and tried pointedly not to look at Solas's. Instead she focused on his eyes. Up close, their soft grey color reminded her of the sky threatening a storm. “I... wake up in the Fade sometimes. I'm still asleep, but I'm aware of where I am, and I remember after I wake up.”

“You are conscious in the Fade?” His tone barely changed from his normal delivery, but she could sense a curious intensity just beneath the surface of his words.

“Yes—sometimes. At first it was just a few seconds at a time. Well, as far as I could tell. I can't trust my sense of time when I'm dreaming. But recently, it's been longer than that. Long enough that I am aware I am in the Fade and can make logical choices about what I want to do, just as I can when awake.”

Solas's eyes scanned her face. The scrutiny made her drop her gaze to his desk.

“How long has this been happening?”

“It started a few months ago, I think. It's only been in the last few weeks that I've been 'awake' for any length of time, though. I... worry.”

She was worried about attracting spirits—demons—but left it implied. Evelyn had been raised with Chantry beliefs, and if pressed she supposed she did believe that spirits were the Maker's first children, soulless and sometimes malevolently jealous of those on the other side of the Veil, but she had never given it very much thought and had no knowledge of Solas's beliefs as an elf or scholar. She did not wish to offend him, or appear as if she thought she knew more than she really did. But she did know what could happen to mages who were not strong enough in the Fade. Everyone did. She had grown up on horrible stories of abominations told in hushed whispers, ostensibly sympathetic accounts of who among the gentry of the Free Marches had lost a son or daughter to that particular weakness endemic to mages. Evelyn was not a mage, and far too old now to become one. But it was worrisome, to say the least, that she was beginning to share the trait that it was said rendered mages vulnerable to demonic possession.

“Were you exposed to any strange artifacts just before this started?”

“I—I don't think so.” Evelyn let out a frustrated little laugh. “But unless something burned me with flashfire when I touched it, I doubt I'd ever have any idea it was magical.”

Solas made a thoughtful noise. “Let me see your hands.”

Evelyn obliged, holding out her hands with palms raised. Solas stepped closer and leaned into her, close enough that she had to resist the urge to pull back. He took her right hand in both of his, long fingers tracing the bones and tendons, feather-light against her skin. He gazed intently at it, but she didn't know what he was looking for, or what he saw beyond an ordinary hand, unmarked by heavy labor or combat. Gently, he turned it over, as if it were fine porcelain. Midway through his study, she lifted her left hand to mouth to cover a yawn.

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I haven't been sleeping well for the past few weeks.”

He lifted his face, one corner of his mouth quirked in the suggestion of a smile. “I thought you seemed distracted in class. It is, I suppose, some small comfort to know it is not because my lectures bore you.”

“I could never find you boring,” she said before she could think better of it.

Solas held her gaze just a moment too long. His hands stilled, but he still held hers. She swallowed hard but resolutely didn't look away. She had spent so many hours in class looking at him, observing him, cataloging his features, but with his attention focused back on her, so close and intense, it felt strangely as if she were really seeing him for the first time. A shadow of an expression crossed his face, too fleeting for her to read it. Her breath quickened; she had an incredible urge to slide her free hand around the back of his head, pull him closer, and kiss him, and she had no idea why.

Instead, she held out her left hand in offering. He didn't take it. He didn't even shift his gaze.

“Would you let me join you?”

“Join me...?” She said, inwardly cursing how breathy it sounded.

“In the Fade. Direct observation may help me determine what's happening to you.”

She nodded; she didn't trust her voice.

At that, Solas turned away. Evelyn felt a dizzy rush as he dropped her hand, as if she'd just surfaced from too long underwater, drawing in a deep, instinctive breath. She watched as he pulled open cabinet drawers and rifled around. When he turned back toward her, he held a small glass vial.

“This will make you drowsy,” he said, holding it out to her. A beat. Then, “It's safe, don't worry. A dose this small will wear off in about an hour.”

She took it. “I trust you,” she said, though she didn't need to. 

“There,” he said, pointing to large upholstered chair pushed into a far corner of the room. “You should sit down before you take it.”

Evelyn sat down, sinking into the old chair. It smelled faintly of old camphor, but she noticed little holes where the moths had gotten to the fabric anyway. She took a deep breath and tipped the vial back. The first taste of the potion was overwhelmingly bitter, with an unexpectedly strong floral note just beneath it. She made a face as she swallowed, but the taste thankfully didn't linger on the tongue. 

“How long does it take to work?” She asked.

“Patience. It will work quickly,” he said as he walked over and knelt in front of her. 

“What if it doesn't work? I mean awaking in the Fade. I can't really predict when it will happen.”

“The observation may still prove useful, and we can repeat the process every night if necessary.” 

“How will I find you?” She asked, growing more agitated as she felt a sudden, strong heaviness in her limbs and instinctively tried to fight it. 

He hushed her. “I will find you.”

Solas looked at her steadily; she fixed on his eyes as her buzzing thoughts dulled and faded. He blinked; she mirrored the action, then she drew in a shallow breath, her eyelids slid shut, the noise stopped.

 

Fish circled lazily above her, iridescent scales catching the light with flashes of color, silhouetted against the sky and clouds. She looked up at them, watched as they circled in a uniform school, broke apart, changed directions, and reformed, over and over in chaotic order. She swayed a little, as if the rhythm of the current moved her, too. _That's not where they belong,_ she said. _They have traded domains with the birds,_ he said. _Just for a fortnight, to see how they like it._ He knew so many things, she thought. And he spoke with such authority that she never doubted him. She tried to swim toward them but something caught her. She looked down to see his hand wrapped around her arm, bleeding warmth through her thin tunic. But it wasn't his grasp that held her; her feet pressed hard against the ground, leaden and heavy. _Stay here with me._

“Evelyn?”

She looked up and found his eyes, familiar stormy grey and alight with interest. “Professor.” 

He recognized her—the true her, the waking her—immediately. “So it's true,” he breathed. “Most extraordinary.” 

The world behind him shimmered and reformed, trees coalescing in the distance out of nebulous grey haze. The fish vanished. She took little notice of it. He raised a hand to her face, cupping her cheek. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth and she couldn't help the way her lips parted. She anticipated nothing; she knew he was too proper and respectful to kiss her, even here in this in strange place, but still she wanted it. She wished he wanted it, too. That was the most she could hope for.

Solas moved his thumb back and forth, just enough to be perceptible. She tried to suppress a shiver but it came out as a shaky breath. 

“You're truly extraordinary.”

“Solas,” she said, heart clenching as she called him by his name, removing the distance of title and obligation for at least this brief moment.

His free hand found her side, then slid around the small of her back, pulling her closer. The motion was protective and sensual at the same time.

“I've been watching you, ever since you showed up in my course. I could tell from that first day... I could tell there was something about you, but I never would have guessed it was this.”

Evelyn raised a hand to his waist. Her fingers pressed on soft linen. Beneath her feet, the ground was soft and springy; they stood in a meadow, near the shore of a small lake. She knew this place with startling familiarity. This was her old quiet spot, somewhere a few miles from her home in Ostwick. She had spent countless afternoons here, practicing her archery, riding her horse through the open woods, escaping her annoying brothers or nagging tutors.

She stopped thinking about the terrain immediately when Solas lifted her chin up and dipped his own face closer to hers. She clutched at his tunic, fisting the sun-warmed fabric and pulling herself closer. Closer than was proper for a student and teacher, but somewhere in the back of her mind was the dawning realization that they had crossed that line the moment he had recognized her and called her name. It was this place, unsettling and comforting at the same time, familiar and alien, she thought. For as much as she was conscious, aware and in control of her actions, her feelings ran out of pace with her logical thoughts. The disconnect left her unmoored from herself.

She breathed his name again, the soft sibilant sounds a sigh on her lips. But before he closed the distance between them, she saw movement in the corner of her eye. A figure, lanky and graceful, walked with familiar gait. Her attention pulled toward it and she turned her face to get a better look.

“Trevelyan!” He called as he picked up speed, striding over marshy ground.

She knew in an instant; Solas, or rather, the thing that wore his face, felt her realization. His grip on her tightened as she lifted both hands to his chest to push him backward. She twisted and tried to wrench herself backward, away from him, but he was preternaturally strong. Face placid and undisturbed, the Solas who held her turned to regard the Solas who approached. 

“Professor!” She shouted as he neared, wanting him to understand she knew now, even if she'd been so foolish and arrogant just a moment before.

Professor Solas was armed with a mage's staff, but he did not draw his weapon. “Let her go,” he said, his voice calm but steady and definitive. “I wish you no harm, friend.” 

The thing that held her looked back at him, as if weighing his options. Then he released her. Evelyn, still straining against him, stumbled backward before she caught herself. The being turned to face Solas, head tilted to the side. Evelyn blinked, and in his place stood another man, an elf, dark-skinned and draped in heavy robes. 

Solas's expression betrayed no hint of surprise or fear. “Thank you,” he said, nodding toward Evelyn. “We did not mean to intrude. We will be on our way.”

The man took a step to the left, closer to Evelyn. The faintest hint of a threat. Then he changed form again, a woman this time, wizened, with grey hair that hung in heavy braids against her back. It stayed that way for a few seconds, just silently watching Solas, then flickered through several more forms much more quickly. They came too fast for Evelyn to study each one. 

Evelyn caught Solas's gaze and gave him an imploring look. She saw the way he tensed and she readied herself to bolt.

The figure, blurred and changing, turned on her. Then it was a halla. Then a wolf. A great, shaggy grey thing twice the size of a real wolf, with eyes the color of citrine. It snarled, baring sharp white teeth at Solas.

“Run,” Solas commanded, holding out his hand.

She lunged forward, clasping his hand as they sprinted toward the treeline. Evelyn didn't dare look over her shoulder. She heard the rhythmic thumping of four feet dashing toward her, a panting snarl that grew louder and closer with every second. She clawed air into her lungs as she ran. Solas's hand was tight around hers. With long legs his stride outpaced hers and she struggled to keep up, stumbling and pitching forward as she barely managed to stay on her feet. 

“We can't!” She said, gasping. “We can't outrun it!” 

“We don't need to,” Solas said. “I'm going to let go of your hand—”

“No!” She shouted.

“I'm going to let go of your hand,” he repeated, tone as calm as could be managed in labored breath. “ _Keep running._ It will only be a few seconds.”

“No, please!” Evelyn said. 

Raw panic shot through her limbs and burned in her muscles. She could hear the creature, just a hair's breadth between her feet and the slavering, snapping jaws that pursued them. 

“Ready?” Solas said.

Evelyn wailed, too frightened to any feel shame. 

“On three, Trevelyan. One—two—”

Then she felt herself being flung forward, one last strong tug on her arm, and Solas blinked out of existence. She fell forward, frantically pushed off the ground with her arms to keep from crashing against the ground. The trees rushed forward to meet her. 

“No, no, no” she chanted under her breath, a powerless incantation that did nothing to thwart the wolf at her heels. 

Her foot caught a loose stone and she stumbled. In a flash, the wolf found its chance and was on her. Its jaws clamped down, felling her. She screamed as teeth bit deeper into the flesh of her calf, hot blood rushing wet on her leggings. A stunning bolt of pain ripped through her; she was going to die. Solas was gone. No help would come to her in this place. In seconds, the wolf would find her throat, crush her neck, drown her in her own blood. Her fingers scrambled and scratched in mud. Another agonizing flare burned up the nerves of her leg and she tried to kick away from the beast. It snarled as her foot made contact with its nose, but she barely heard it over the screaming pain. She lifted her face just far enough to see the dark entrance to the forrest. Then her eyes shot open and she flailed forward, arms striking a hard form.

The pain was gone, just a ghost of a memory in her flesh. Her vision came into focus in the dim room. The professor's office. Solas dropped his hands from her shoulders. She slumped back against the heavy chair, panting, panic slowly ebbing from her muscles as reality reasserted itself. He had left the Fade only to wake her and pull her out, too. She felt a rush of relief as she looked back at him.

“It felt so real,” she said with no small amount of terrible wonder.

“It was real.”

Solas rose and walked to his cabinet. She heard him pouring something and he turned back to her with a glass of liquid. He offered it and she drank. Cool water hit her throat and she was grateful. She finished it and handed the glass back with thanks. Then it rushed back to her—what had happened immediately before the wolf. Shame sunk to the pit of her stomach and curdled there. She stared down at her hands, curling them into fists. How had she not known? How had she looked at that thing that stole her professor's visage and thought for even a moment it was truly him? She had been flattered, the simplest seduction of a single kind word. Her arrogance in believing without a second thought that Professor Solas had any particular feelings about her, let alone tender ones, was almost too embarrassing to be borne. She had seen, or rather, been shown, precisely what she wished to see, even if she hadn't entirely admitted to herself that she desired it. And she'd been vain enough to accept it. Surely he knew what had happened. He knew the Fade. Knew spirits. And he had seen more than enough. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

“Was that a—” She began, then cut herself off, swallowing the word “demon.” She'd heard demons that reflect back desires and lust were among the most dangerous.

“It was a spirit,” Solas answered. “A nascent one. Not yet powerful, and perhaps not yet settled in its purpose.”

The matter-of-fact way he said it, with no insinuation about what he saw, almost made her feel worse. From the corner of her eye she could see that Solas still watched her. She couldn't stand it for another second. She pushed herself to her feet too quickly and dizziness clouded her head. 

“You should rest,” he said with real concern.

“I'm all right, Professor,” she said, shaking her head to clear the fog. “It was just a—just a shock.” She moved toward the door until his hand caught her arm, arresting her.

“I do not wish to frighten you, Miss Trevelyan, but I am concerned. This is... contrary to the natural order,” Solas said. It seemed as if he chose his words a little too carefully. “I'm afraid I have no answers for you now, but you were right to come to me with this. I will do all I can. In the meantime, keep a record of everything that happens to you in the Fade.”

She stared at the door, unable to turn back and face him. “What if it comes back for me?” She asked, her voice small.

“You need not fear that spirit,” he said, but did not explain further.

She trusted him; she had no other choice. She nodded. He let go of her arm. She didn't look back as she left his office, but responded in kind when he bade her good evening. That night, lying alone in her dormitory room bed, moonlight casting faint patterns on the wall through the leadlight window, she still believed him. But she did not sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Evelyn did not go to Professor Solas's next lecture. She was exhausted, having slept only fitfully the night before, tossing and turning and waking herself before she could awaken in the Fade. She imagined him eyeing her empty chair and judging her, concluding that she was nothing more than a weak-willed, silly girl. Any confidence he might have had in her dashed. It had been three days since she had been in the Fade with Solas and she had not seen him since. She had spent the long weekend in the university library, pulling half-rotten ancient tomes from the shelf and poring over them, but none of what she found regarding the Fade proved either intelligible to her as a layperson or seemingly relevant to her condition. She knew it was a futile activity and better left to Solas, but she both itched to occupy and distract her thoughts and have something, however pitiful, to share with Solas. Some proof that despite how weak she'd shown herself to be in the Fade, she was at least trying to be proactive about her own strange circumstances.

Late in the evening while reviewing a text, sleep finally caught up with her and she surrendered to it. She placed her head down on a book in her room, and raised it from a book in the library. She stood, rubbed her eyes, and took in her surroundings. The Fade presented a largely accurate version of the university's main library, though Evelyn supposed that since it drew from her own memory, she wouldn't be able to recognize any inaccuracies, anyway. A few people wandered the floor, lost in dreams. 

She made her way to the reading room, a broad hall with vaulted cathedral ceilings and neat rows of tables, walls cloaked in stained glass depicting the life of Andraste. Enough light streamed through the window to drape mottled rainbows on the floor and over the shelves and tables. The reading room had only one great door on the far wall. She dropped the heavy latch and slid the bolt into place, then Evelyn positioned herself on the other end of the building. The room was empty save for one other person, a man she recognized as Owen, the librarian. She watched him move slowly and methodically, and concluded that he likely was a dreamer and not a spirit manifesting his form. But still she kept a watch on him out of the corner of her eye.

Shelves ran perpendicular to the walls and Evelyn idly reached for a book. She hadn't really considered it in between worrying about spirits and possession, but another side effect of waking in the Fade was that she did not spend that time dreaming, lost in unconscious wandering. If she did not do choose to do something, it did not happen. She had time to fill.

She turned the book on its side. _The History of Grey Wardens in Ferelden_ was embossed on the spine in gold letters. She lifted the cover and flipped a few pages. They were all blank. Frowning, she opened to a random page in the middle. Blank. She replaced it on the shelf and reached for _The Reign of Reville: Mad Emperor of Orlais_. Evelyn fanned the pages. All blank. She replaced it and simply stared at the shelves for a moment before it dawned on her. Of course these books were blank. She had never read them. What she saw was a manifestation of her own memories; she remembered this place, these shelves, these leather book spines with titles she had skipped her fingers over in search of some particular volume, but the contents of these books were not in her memories. And the Fade could not reflect back something that filled in a void in her own memory.

Evelyn sighed. On the far end of the room, Owen still sorted books into orderly piles. She felt some measure of safety in the reading room, rightly or wrongly. She didn't know nearly enough about the Fade to know if the heavy door and single entrance afforded any kind of actual protection or seclusion, but the feeling was still worth something. She wasn't ready to give it up and venture outside. Surely there was a quill and ink pot somewhere in reading room. If she couldn't occupy herself with a book, she could at least draw.

She was only a few minutes into her search when a heavy clang reverberated through the room. She froze, gaze shooting toward the door. The bolt slid free, untouched, then door swung open slowly. A figure appeared, haloed in bright light from outside. As he stepped into the room and the door shut behind him, she recognized the form of Professor Solas. He—whatever it was—wore the same simple garb Solas had worn the last time she'd seen him in the Fade but carried no weapon she could see.

He walked toward her with a purposeful, unhurried stroll, straight up the long central carpet. She sucked in a nervous breath and glanced around, confirming what she already knew. The main door was the only way in or out. She circled around a table, placing it between her and the figure despite the laughable futility of it.

He stopped as he reached the table in front of hers. “Good evening, Evelyn.”

Not taking her eyes off of him, she stepped behind a chair, gripping the railings and ready to raise it to strike if necessary. Her eyes narrowed as he didn't respond, didn't move. His expression was placid. He looked so like her professor that she could almost have believed it was really him. Almost, except that he had addressed her so intimately, by her given name, just as the last spirit had done. Just as she wished Professor Solas would do. And just as the real Professor Solas pointedly would not. This being embodied Solas as she remembered him and wished him to be; she would not fall for the ruse twice.

“Are you a spirit?”

“No,” he said simply.

“Stupid question,” Evelyn said, mostly to herself. “Of course you wouldn't admit it.”

He merely smiled. “You're learning quickly. That's good.”

She watched him warily for another moment. Still he didn't move. It was uncomfortable to think about the fact that she no privacy in her own thoughts here, that so many spirits could read her feelings and her history as easily as she read a book and show her a version of whatever—whoever—it found within her. A version accurate enough to be convincing, perfect enough to be seductive. And of course who it chose to show her was Professor Solas. He was her weakness; she was distinctly aware of it now. But he was so much her weakness that awareness did nothing to mitigate her impulsive reaction to his face, a rush of trust and attraction that came from a place deeper than logical thought.

“Why do you take that form?” She asked, despite knowing the answer. That form was power, whether he wished good or ill.

“It's the only form I have. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

Evelyn thought about it for a moment, releasing a heavy sigh. She did not feel like arguing or pressing the issue. “No. Why are you here?” She tried to sound more assured and much less anxious than she felt.

“To help you.”

Evelyn worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She was fairly certain this was not the same spirit that a few nights before had nearly seduced her, then nearly killed her ( _could_ it have killed her? There in the Fade, with teeth or claws? Yet another question she would have to ask Professor Solas when she had worked up the courage to speak to him again.) She had felt a pull toward that being, a prickling sensation in her skin that she didn't feel at all right now. “So you're... benevolent?” 

His smile was lopsided, perfectly true to the real thing. “Call it an academic interest.”

He seemed so familiar, so like the man she knew that despite knowing she was looking in a mirror of memory she relaxed a little, dropping her hands from the chair. If this being wished to attack her, it had ample opportunity. With no way to flee, she made a conscious choice to extend just a little bit of trust. The Chantry taught that benevolent spirits did exist, beings committed to compassion or valor or love. Perhaps the same thing that drew demons to a person in the Fade drew good spirits that wished to help. In her present circumstances, she had little to lose by hoping it was true.

“Could I sit with you?” Solas asked.

She hesitated, but decided there was no point in declining. “Sure.” 

Solas stepped forward, pulling out a chair across from her. She watched as he sat and waited patiently for her. It seemed he meant to simply stay with her and help as the need arose. Looking down at him, a thought came to her. “Do you know how to play chess?” It was probably an odd question to ask a spirit, but she thought the answer might yes, possibly for no other reason than she knew how to play.

“I do.”

“Would you like to play?”

“If you'd like, Evelyn.”

She stepped back, then turned around, her back toward him, and headed toward the furthest bookshelf a few feet away. It was something of a test to see what he would do. When she reached it, she glanced back at him. Solas was still sitting at the table, watching her. She felt another sliver of doubt and fear work its way out of her skin. She entered the narrow space between the bookshelf and the wall and pulled a wooden box from the lowest shelf.

Returning to the table, Evelyn began setting up the board. “The librarian keeps a chess set in the stacks. That's him over there, Owen.” She pointed. “Apparently he spends all day shelving books and then dreams about shelving books all night. Can you imagine?”

“He must have an admirable amount of passion for his work,” Solas said.

She mirrored his playful expression and took the first turn, pushing a chess piece to another space on the board. He moved his own piece with quick certainty. They continued back and forth in mostly easy company. Evelyn was still a bit apprehensive but had come to the conclusion that this Solas had been honest, at least about not wishing her harm. His presence was somewhat comforting, though the memory of the last time she had faced Solas in the Fade had her keeping a careful distance between them.

Midway through their game, a sudden clap of thunder rang through the hall. Evelyn started, her hand knocking over several chess pieces. An instant later, the light through the windows dimmed darker than twilight. Another crack of thunder came accompanied by lightning and a sudden rush of heavy rain. Without the bright sunlight streaming through the windows, sparse candlelight provided the only illumination.

“Is this normal here?” She asked, trying not to sound too agitated. It was just a storm, and she was embarrassed over the fact that she had reacted like a young child, terrified of the angry crack of thunder.

“It is not abnormal,” he said.

As an answer, it was more frustrating than reassuring. She moved to right the chess pieces when Solas's hand landed on her arm, stilling her. She looked up at him, then followed his line of sight to the far end of the room. There was a hazy green glow there that had not been there a moment before.

“What's—”

He cut her off with a sharp hushing noise. Then he pulled his hand away and he was on his feet. Solas stepped quickly to where she sat and motioned her up with a nod. She obeyed automatically, rising to her feet and following him. Evelyn stole a look over her shoulder and saw that the green cloud had begun to take a more specific form, something wispy and ghost-like. He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the far wall, guiding her back to where she had pulled the chess set from the shelf. 

The space was barely wide enough for both of them. He maneuvered her into the corner, back pressed against the cold stone wall, his body blocking most of the narrow view back out into the room. He stepped forward, away from her, to get a better view into the room. She stayed against the wall, watching the dim outline of his body, one hand thrown back behind him in silent signal to her to stay.

“What is it?” Evelyn asked in a whisper.

He turned around and stepped quickly back to her. The light from the candelabras was too weak to penetrate this far and she could barely make out the features of his face, but she could hear his breath as he moved his face closer to hers and angled it to speak low and close to her ear.

“A wraith. A very simple creature, but prone to lashing out indiscriminately. Do nothing to attract its attention and it will leave of its own accord.”

His breath was warm on her ear, the stone still cold on her back, and she shivered against him. He was so close she knew he felt it. The wraith made no sound; all she could hear was the steady beat of rain against the windows and the even sound of Solas's breath. She lifted a hand to his side. She didn't press it to his body, but instead grasped the loose fabric of his shirt. In the low light, the sense of solidity and connection was reassuring. Just over his shoulder, Evelyn saw a foggy green form glide slowly by. She stiffened and sucked in a sharp breath. He didn't step back or pull away from her. Instead, Solas lifted one arm and braced himself against the wall beside her, boxing her in. His closeness was not born of necessity. There was plenty of space for him to step away and still be shrouded in darkness and protected from view. She wondered if it evinced a lack of trust in her to not panic and flee or draw the creature's attention. 

The wraith disappeared from her field of vision and she let her head tip back against the hard wall. Her eyes fluttered shut. She had nothing to focus on besides the nearness of Solas's body, accurate down to those long fingers and appraising, hawkish eyes. He smelled enticing, like herbs and old books and the faintest hint of smoke, as if he'd spent the day reading a little too close to the hearth. In that moment, it was so easy to forget she was in the Fade. That this was not the real reading room, that Professor Solas had not found her here and pulled her into this hidden corner because his desire for her had finally overcome his sense of decency. If she were just a bit more in denial she'd wonder if this man was a demon of desire, but she knew she needed no help to conjure up such self-indulgent, shameful fantasies.

“How long will it stay?” She whispered. 

He made another low hushing noise and didn't speak immediately. Instead, he shifted, turning just enough to look over his shoulder and out into the room. Whatever he saw, or sensed, his body blocked from her view. The movement brought the side of his torso against hers. Her grip on his shirt tightened. When he turned back to her and settled, his leg found its way between her knees and she choked back a gasp. He didn't seem aware of it, or at least his body betrayed no reaction. She tried to draw in a breath slowly, consciously, but with the way she'd begun trembling it came ragged and frayed. The appearance of the wraith had quickened her pulse with a mild, anxious worry, but it was the nearness of his body that set it galloping. Her own pulse sounded nearly deafening in her ears and she wondered if he could hear it, too. Wondered if his senses were so acute that he could read the effect he had on her by listening to the frantic pitch of her heartbeat.

Solas tilted his face to bring his lips near her ear again. “As long as it wishes.”

Evelyn tipped her head back to rest on the stone wall, raised her eyes to the dark ceiling, and swallowed hard, collecting what little strength she felt she had left. 

“You don't have to...” she began, but found she couldn't finish the request. Couldn't ask him not to be so protective, so close, in a way she could pretend was possessive and full of desire.

As she lifted her head from the wall, her cheek brushed his, warm and unexpected. 

“Solas,” she sighed, and it didn't matter that it wasn't really him.

Something caught within him, like an animal suddenly aware of the springing of a trap, and he started to pull away. She raised a hand, finding the juncture of his neck and shoulder in the low light. For seemingly the first time that night, his body reacted to her. She felt his muscles tense under her hand. That single touch seeming to arrest him. With tentative fingers she traced the curve of his throat then slid her hand to the side of his neck, just below his ear. She coaxed him to turn his face toward hers, her fingers splayed and applying the lightest pressure.

“Evelyn,” he said. His voice was low in a way she knew was meant to warn, but the rich tone had the opposite of the intended effect.

She didn't drop her hand. He let her guide him, his lips brushing across her cheek as he turned his face, whisper-light. Maker take her, but she was weak, too weak to resist. She wanted to kiss him, just once, to commit the feeling of his lips against hers to memory. She rationalized it with what little rational capacity she had left. It wasn't quite the same mistake she'd made just a few nights before—she did not flatter herself that this was anything other than a reflection of her own one-sided attraction. She felt certain this Solas wasn't a demon and truly meant her no harm. (And if she were wrong, it would not leave her any more vulnerable than she already was in that moment, though she pushed this thought away to keep company with her other vague fears about the Fade and its denizens.) They were alone, hidden in darkness in a far corner of this cavernous reading room. It was just a kiss. Perhaps she'd even done it before in her dreams, blissfully unaware and denied the memory of it after awaking. 

She found the seam of his lips and pressed a kiss there, so soft and chaste she could almost pretend her desires were equally innocent. Reckless as she was, it was still all she dared do. For a fleeting moment he simply let her do it, and then his body pressed against hers so suddenly that she made a startled sound. Her lips parted and his mouth was on hers, teasing her bottom lip between his. Rough rock bit into her back through the thin fabric of her shirt. He was so close now that his leg pressed assertively against her inner thighs and she had to resist the urge to pull his hips wantonly against hers. His tongue slipped in her mouth and what little control she had left dissipated into the strange air of the Fade. She was open to him, needing and wanting, and he kissed her as if he'd hungered for it longer than memory and could not be sated.

She couldn't say how long he kissed her, the only sensation was the feel of his mouth exploring hers and his hand on her waist, holding her close. But all too soon he grasped her wrist in his hand and pulled away, breaking the kiss. He stepped back and her arm fell from his side. His hand on her wrist was their only point of contact. Evelyn kept her back pressed against the wall, not daring to close the purposeful distance he'd placed between them. The only thing she could hear was the heavy rise and fall of her own breath.

“We shouldn't,” he said. “I am not what you think I am.”

Evelyn raised her free hand, but didn't reach out and pull him back. She didn't know if it was cowardice or the first good decision she'd made since he'd walked in the door. “It doesn't matter. You're not a demon.”

He made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “No, I am not that.”

“Then I don't care.”

“You should, Evelyn.”

He was right, and knowing it made Evelyn's stomach twist into a guilty knot. He'd given her no reason to distrust him, but she was naive when it came to the Fade, a complete neophyte. For all her certainty that he meant no harm and wished to help, truly she had no idea what he was, and that alone should have made her more cautious. She'd kissed him, not knowing what it meant here, not knowing what it might mean to him. That should have been enough risk for one night. Too much, even. She inhaled deeply and nodded. 

“Sorry,” she whispered, barely audible over the staccato sound of rain pelting the windows and roof.

“Don't be. I didn't say I didn't enjoy it.” 

She could hear the smile in his voice and it was a relief, defusing most of the tension she felt. Seemingly satisfied that Evelyn had relented and would not pursue the matter further, he turned away from her, stepping forward with a soft tug on her arm. She followed, stopping when he stopped near the end of the bookshelf to peer around the corner and survey the room.

“It's gone,” he said, no longer keeping his voice low to avoid detection. “We should leave now in case it comes back.”

“You want to go out in that rain?” She asked, but dutifully followed as he lead her toward the great wooden door, away from the bookshelves and the table where they'd left their interrupted game.

He didn't answer, but when they neared the door the rain stopped as suddenly as it had started, and he glanced back at her with a confident smile.

“Was that you?” She asked as he dropped her hand to pull open the heavy door. “How did you do that?”

Outside it was sunny and clear, a perfect facsimile of a pleasant spring day. Evelyn blinked against the brightness.

“Come, where do you wish to go?” He said instead of offering an explanation.

“I don't know.”

When he held his hand out again, she took it. His long fingers curled around hers, firm and reassuring. “Anywhere,” she amended, and meant it.


End file.
